


Mockingbird [A Sherlock Holmes Love Story]

by shawtygirl0513



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Love, Mutual Pining, Sibling Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawtygirl0513/pseuds/shawtygirl0513
Summary: We are all mockingbirds of the same society.We sing different songs. Some of knowledge, some of ignorance, some of happiness, and some...Some of anguish.And for Sherlock Holmes to decrypt another's song is unheard of- especially one he has never heard in his life, the one he'd thought was the furthest away from him.The song of anguish, of pain, of guilt, of emotions.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes/Reader, Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Original Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/You
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

_**13 YEARS AGO, LONDON.** _

_Now hush little baby don't you cry_

_Everything's gonna be alright_

_Stiffen that upper lip up little lady, I told ya_

_Daddy's here to hold ya through the night_

_And if you ask me to Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

_I'mma give you the world_

_I'mma buy a diamond ring for you_

_I'mma sing for you_

_I'll do anything for you to see you smile_

One song ringing through her mind, the teenage girl crouches under a streetlight and cries into her wrists.

It's three in the morning and she thanks whatever god is there, mentally, that there's no one here right now, to question her, to look at her, to see her in her darkest state. Blood splattered all over her white crop tee and shiny black boots, her dyed hair no longer in that pretty spiral she'd put onto a few hours ago. Her cargo pants are wet, she's pissed herself just a little bit.

_No, no, no, no, no._

This has to be hell. She has to be dreaming. This can't be happening. Her sobs never seem to stop, the tears flowing out again and again, seemingly forever, and she hates herself that the one song in her mind is the one song that _he'd_ told her not to listen to... the one song that he'd prevented her from listening to because _he'd_ been worried about her.

And now she's gone, and the only song she seems to remember is the one that he didn't like.

It's all her fault. It's _all her fucking fault-_

_I didn't MEAN TO-_

_I'M SORRY-_

Her breaths comes in panting gasps and she cries, keeps on crying. Like all the moisture's going to be drained out of her. She can't breathe but she deserves that- she's dirty but dirtier on the inside. She can't go home. Not when she knows _he's_ out there, almost gone, almost near her parents but never leaving her. He told her to go but she can't go.

It's all her fault and he's bearing the full blunt of it.

She knows it's too late. She knows she should have listened when it wasn't and she knows she didn't, but _fuck that she can't help it._ He was always too nice, too considerate, too happy, too loving.

She'd prefer it if he screamed at her.

But that's never going to happen, is it? Because that's just how it works. He's like Jem and she's like Scout- no matter how bad it goes, it's always his fault. She's just the spoiled little brat tagging along.

What _possessed_ her to do it? Why? She cries, knowing that she's condemned him to his fate. Worse is that he's turning eighteen today. He's not going to survive, not going to last long, not going to get anything. He'll never see her again, and he'll never grin at her again. He'll never shout, like she'd been egging him to do to her since day one.

The sidewalk is dirty but she curls up on it anyway, hoping that he'll come, he'll be fine and dandy, he'll pick her up like he always does and laugh with her and buy her an ice cream so please can she just keep quiet?

_Now hush little baby don't you cry_

_Everything's gonna be alright-_

Shut _up! Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!_

In a fit of rage, her hand flies out to strike one of the bins and it rocks a bit before spilling over sideways. Her hand aches and she suddenly feels very stupid- but guilty. Still guilty.

Always guilty.

Her thoughts are shattered, like little parts of a mirror, and every time she tries to collect them she gets cut. Everywhere. Because it's her fault, isn't it? It's her fault that this all happened, and no matter how much she wishes to go back, she can't. If she could, she would.

But she _can't._

Her face scrunches up, painfully, and she berates herself for everything, for her whole life, for being born, for existing. _He would have been better off without you._ She chides, _Especially now._

If he does come back, if they decide to rule him in as a child, would he blame her when they meet again? He wouldn't, probably. That's just him. He would still come at her with sparkling eyes, arms spread wide open, a smile on his face, no matter how hard times had been. She'd ask, _how was it there?_ and he'd reply, _it was great,_ because _everything_ is great for him, isn't it? Nothing is ever sad. Ever hopeless. Ever angry.

His song is always happy.

But she's not like him, that's the problem- so she just sits there, and cries, because her song is of guilt, of anger, and of hatred.


	2. Chapter 2

**_13 YEARS LATER_ **

"Your honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury." She voices, her lips emitting a cold, logical form in which she talks, especially in such a situation. "It is to a strong fact that under the court's laws, my client is innocent until proven guilty. And according to which they speak, this is the case. They failed to prove more than several things: no substantial evidence as to the presumed 'violence' the father invoked upon his children and the lack of a sufficient amount of strength with his left hand."

The court is completely silent, save for a few nervous coughs. Instead, she looks around the entirity of the room with a certain calculating gaze to her eye, not threatening in the least but intimindating. Her arms are crossed in front of her, as she steps forwards perfectly in delicate kitten heels.

"The prosecution has presented no _real_ evidence as to the so-claimed abuse my client was so fond of doing. They have no proof of this even _actually_ taking place, and therefore presents a reasonable doubt and catch when filing the said client under 'guilty'- which, as I have mentioned, there is not enough evidence to truly accuse him of that."

She tilts her head, her gaze roaming towards the prosecution side. The wife's arms are crossed defiantly. With a simple raise to the eyebrow, she continues:

"Not guilty until proven- and since there is a lack of evidence on their fault, I find it glad to inform you that this man is not guilty of what he has been accused of."

Time is up. She has matched it perfectly.

She stops, sits down. Next to her, the client seems to be faring well- better than many, when placed in his position. No shaking, no pleading. Just a bit of tense muscles in his right hand, gripping his trouser fabric like a lifeline.

The jury is talking, and she listens in with a slight frown. One ear listening out for anything potentially different they might say, her hand comes to the shaking man to place a hand on his shoulder, and when he looks up frightenedly, gives him a comforting look. He stops shaking after three.

Judge and jury decides not guilty. From across the bench, the woman trembles in anger? Fear?

The man stops looking down as soon as those words are uttered. All smiles. Murmuring prayers to God. Thanking her with his eyes. He looks as if he might cry, and so she takes a few to rub his back soothingly.

The judge leaves, they exit the court. The prosecution looks displeased, glaring daggers at her, but she merely raises a cold brow at their piercing gaze, her face stone cold and devoid of emotion.

"Thank you." The man is sobbing, beside her. "Thank you _so much. Thank you._ "

Repeating those same words, again and again. She shakes her head, tells him it's all right. Her phone dings and she barely notices the extra 50 added behind the cost she'd asked for. When they get out, she claps him on the back, tells him it'd been good working with him, and gives him money for the cab. He looks like he's going to hug her or cry at the same time so she just give him a one-armed hug and tells him to have a nice day.

When he leaves, she makes sure he's gotten on safe before hailing a cab for herself, her fingers touching the neatly printed words on the paper again and again. The same pattern, in a language only she understands. The cab lets her down in front of the building and she tips him generously, leaving without so much as another word.

When he leaves, she's already at the front of the building, pushing the door open and making her way in. Her hair makes its way down her back in a cascade of dark curls but otherwise, her uniform clothes are as uncompromised as they'd been when she'd first gone into the case- not so much as a wrinkle.

She reaches the end of the corridor and finds herself facing a closed door, the nameplate engraved with simple initials, and she knocks.

"Jeremy." She knocks on the door again: an obvious request to come in. "You there?"

Silence.

She knocks again. Probably asleep. Pursing her lips, she knocks again, and again. "J.J."

"Hmmmphshn." A snort at the other side.

"JJ."

"Hmm- wha- come in."

She complies, crossing her arms to watch the man's head lolling off the chair. "Get off your arse, Jonas." When he fails to do so, she walks over to him briskly and shakes him hard. "Jonas!"

He humphs and his eys shoot open, almost falling off the chair. A sigh on her lips, she grabs him by the back of the collar and hauls him back up. "Wake up."

"I _am_ up." He frowns, blinks. "You're here."

"Here. Yes, I'm here. I won the case."

"You won the case?" Jonas struggles up and he shakes himself out of his drowsy stupor before letting out a slow clap. "Well done, lad."

"He gave me an extra fifty the amount he was supposed to."

"Yes, I saw." She waits, crossing her arms as she leans back on her chair. A pointed look on her face. He finally gets what he's missing out on and a look of realization dawns across his face. "Oh. Sorry."

"I told you four hundred is the cap for familial court cases."

He blinks, slowly. "He wanted to thank you!"

"You should have told him to spend that money for his children, or something." She says, rolling her eyes. "Made up some- any kind of exuse. A good one, unlike what you're making now."

J.J can never resist money. It is a flaw of his he knows himself.

"Lighten up, lad." He laughs. "Use that money on something else. Rent, or food."

"I'm not going to spend an extra fifty dollars eating steak."

"You like steak."

"Hardly the point." She tuts, swinging her backpack over her shoulder; "Return the excess money; he has better use of it than me. Speaking of uses," Turning to him, she props her chin up on her hands. "Any new cases for me?"

He shakes his head. She watches as his head lolls again, about to go to sleep, and leans forwards to slaps him across the face. "None?"

"None." He confirms, and then his eyes drooping, sits straight up. "No hitting!"

"There's no _reason_ to, you're already awake." She gives him a pat on the back before making her way out. "Try not to fall asleep again."

He nods for a moment before his head drops down again and he begins to emit a light snore. She watches him, shaking her head, and without so much as another word makes her way out, closing the door softly behind her.

Her hand comes up of its own accord to rub at her forehead, as she enters her own office. Against the rapidly darkening sky, there is the outline of her desk, the laptop, the pile of books from last night. And the ringing

of a phone.


End file.
